Doctor Dick
by bakafriendsforever
Summary: "I'm 26, 24 years of peeing practice under my belt. How old are you?" "Old enough to turn you over my knee and spank you, cutie." AU, yaoi, swearing. Crossover Bleach/House M.D. GrimmIchi.
1. Chapter 1

_So here it is: a brain baby. Racey and I have joint custody of it and this is a trial run because neither of us has ever attempted a crossover fic with anime, especially a crossover fic with a lot of medical mumbo-jumbo. So if you're a surgeon or in med school or just a pain in the ass who leaves pointless or unhelpful reviews because we don't know the difference between a scalpel and an MRI machine, don't read it._

_THIS IS A CROSSOVER FIC: BLEACH/HOUSE so buckle up, kiddies._

_Oh yeah. We don't own House or Bleach. It'd be disastrous for the homophobes of the world if we did –snort-_

Onwards…

**Chapter 1.**

Yoruichi lifted her head when she heard her office's twin French doors swing open harder then necessary.

"There he is," she said, setting her pen down as the thirty-something year old genius diagnostician limped into the room with a black cane that had a solid white stripe snaking down around it like an inverted barbershop pole.

The diagnostician was limping, but damn if the slight limp didn't make him that much hotter. The man was tall at around six foot four with broad shoulders, a strong jaw, and disarming lightning blue eyes that matched equally chaotic and gravity-defying blue hair. At the moment, his brows were pulled together, his face contorted into a frown, but once again Yoruichi was blown away by how stunning the diagnostician was even when he wasn't smirking or showing off that maniacal canine smile that had men and women alike dropping their pants and getting on their backs. He was wearing a faded blue band t-shirt and washed out jeans that were beginning to rip in one knee, but she knew it wouldn't be worth the fight to get him to dress up more professionally.

Besides, he looked sinfully sexy no matter what he was wearing.

She'd heard that the last hospital that had requested him to dress up in a starched shirt and tie with a medical lab coat had had to deal with the crazy bastard showing up in nothing but the lab coat.

Too bad Yoruichi hadn't been there to see it, but it had been a nightmare for the hospital's board of directors to deal with, and she didn't need any more on her plate at the moment.

So she smiled at him as he approached her desk, even though she knew the first words out of his mouth were bound to be offensive.

"What did I do to you in a past life to make you go behind my back and pick my team for me? Is this about French kissing your mom at your birthday party?"

Yoruichi kept her smile plastered on her face, "No, House, this has nothing to do with that."

"For the record, I was drunk," the blue-haired asshole smirked, plopping down in the comfy chair in front of Yoruichi's desk, "she wasn't though."

"Your first day and not even five minutes on the punch card and you're already insulting your boss," Yoruichi said, crossing her arms over her voluptuous chest, impressed when his eyes didn't linger there, "Don't be threatened by a woman in a position of power, House: I'm good at what I do and I'm not going to fold because you're mad mommy set up a play date for you."

House shrugged, "I have no problem playing in the sandbox."

"So you're saying the last intern on your team didn't check herself into a mental institution?"

"Personally I think it was the underlying daddy issues."

Yoruichi picked up a stack of papers on her desk and set it back down, showing him how hefty it was, "And this isn't all the sexual harassment lawsuits and patient complaints forwarded to me by the past three clinics that had to let you go."

"It is my right – nay, my civic DUTY – to inform an attractive fellow citizen that they have a perfect ass."

"And the patients?"

"Call me crazy but I was under the impression you didn't want to hire me because of my bleeding heart bedside manner," House retorted, one of his blue eyebrows raised in challenge.

"You're right, I didn't," Yoruichi said, letting him win this round by signing off a paper on her desk and setting it in another file, "I hired you because you're the best at what you do. You're the new head of diagnostics, House. Don't fuck it up."

"Never intended to. Now, about my team that I'll be corrupting…"

"Urahara helped me with the interviews. They're bright, House."

"Urahara? You let my best friend pick my diagnostic team for me? You're totally whipped."

"Shut up."

"You obviously love him, so what's the hold up? Aren't you guys talking about tying the knot and creating a mini-army of mutant Uraharas? Your biological baby clock is ticking. I can practically hear your eggs shrinking right now."

"How is it that you're still single?" Yoruichi said, smiling at her lover's best friend with the smile that struck fear into most men.

Too bad House wasn't most men.

Yoruichi had never understood how someone as mellow and friendly as Urahara was capable of maintaining any kind of relationship with someone as aggressive as House. Urahara was incredibly smart but also gentle, caring, and affectionate.

It was why he made such a great oncologist here in her hospital, and Yoruichi knew House would never admit it, but she knew he had agreed to take the position here at the hospital as a way to maintain a close space with his oldest and best friend.

House didn't have many friends. He could count them on one hand, or maybe one finger.

House winked, "Who said I was single?"

"Urahara."

"When Urahara's not busy slaving away for his boss, he's busy getting busy with said-boss, so is he really a reliable source?"

"Yes, he is, because you tell him everything."

"And he tells you everything, which means you know all about last weekend's testicle festival."

"We're not in college anymore, House. One of these days you're going to meet someone that's going to tame you, someone that's going to make you want to settle down and stop hosting orgies that would make the ancient Greeks blush."

"Monogamy is for chumps and eHarmony commercials."

"I wonder if you'll get jealous. It's adorable how jealous you get of me and Urahara's date nights."

"You're lucky you're smart, witty, and smoking hot or you never would have made it past date three with him," House replied. He sounded so serious Yoruichi couldn't even laugh it off.

So she just stared at him as he leaned back in the chair, his head cocked slightly, his posture relaxed, but the air around him charged with confidence.

Yoruichi didn't think it was fair that this infamous genius bastard was also one of the hottest men she'd ever met in her life.

He was definitely pretty to look at, but she hated how uncontrollably irritating he could be, how he did whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. Selfish, sarcastic, and a pain in the ass.

But he was brilliant, so most of the time he got away with the words he let flow from his mouth or the insane tests and treatments he pulled off. He'd graduated from high school at an ungodly early age before pursuing medical school with full honors. He was a prick, but he was a prick that knew how to solve medical mysteries that left doctors twice his age shaking their heads.

And now he was going to officially work for her hospital. Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was small and had limited funding, but they were one of the best, and Yoruichi was certain that having him here would ensure the hospital's continued stability in finance as well as reputation.

Or it would explode in her face.

It didn't matter that she had known House for several years now. She'd heard of him when she herself had been in medical school but hadn't believed the stories about him until meeting him when she had started dating Urahara.

Urahara, unbelievably, had known him since childhood, although Urahara was several years older. Urahara had warned her that House lived by nobody's rules but his own: no code existed outside of logic and House's pension for mischief and boredom.

Apparently it was far too easy for a genius to get bored. House's mind was too active: if he wasn't entertained, if he wasn't having fun or solving puzzles or playing games, he'd start to self-destruct, and that wouldn't be good for anyone.

And Yoruichi's perfect record as the hospital's Dean of Medicine would be torn to shreds.

"It's your first day. It's their first day. Take it easy."

"We'll see how it goes. I'm hoping I can make at least one of them cry before lunch."

…

House hopped off the elevator and headed down a long hallway before stopping in front of his new office:

G. House, M.D. Head of Diagnostic Medicine

He grinned, "Bitchinnnnnnnnn'."

He opened the glass door and perused his new office, already deciding that the desk was useless for anything other then a footrest, and a comfy couch needed to be put in here before he even thought about putting the nameplate on the desk. The shelves were mostly empty except for a few medical textbooks.

He shrugged. At least there was plenty of room for his porn collection and Star Wars DVDs.

The other corner he decided would be the new home for one of his many electric guitars and a giant amp for afternoon jam sessions.

When he tapped his cane on the big desk, he noticed a bright green sticky note attached to the brand new Mac computer screen. He ripped it off and immediately recognized his best friend's handwriting:

Welcome welcome! Excited to have you as a coworker~! A humble present awaits you in the top drawer. Consider it a don't-destroy-my-girlfriend's-hospital kind of gift, ne? Oh, and dinner's at seven. Don't be late~!

-All my Affections, Urahara :)

House crumpled the note and opened the top drawer of his desk with apprehension, his brows drawn together. Urahara was beyond weird and was extremely eccentric, two reasons that House had always been fascinated by him. House bored easily: of course his best friend would be a complete weirdo, someone that always kept him guessing.

And they were notorious for their pranks on each other, so this "gift" could easily bite.

The drawer slid open smoothly and inside sat a small white box with a pale blue ribbon. House rolled his eyes before picking it up and untying the ribbon with a rough tug and removing the lid before smiling like a complete psychopath.

How Urahara managed to get his hands on a copy of his favorite mangaka's latest work a month before it's public release was beyond him. Urahara always had the best presents, and House didn't usually question his mysterious methods of attaining pretty much anything.

The cover was extremely explicit, a hardcore yaoi erotica still in it's "raw" Japanese form. He preferred to read them in Japanese, as the English translations were alright but never quite good enough. House had grown up with a love for manga and Japanese culture in general, so he'd taught himself a writing system besides his native German. Honestly, after growing up with a mother who juggled Japanese and English and an asshole father who had only ever barked at him in German and French, language had never been a problem for him.

Spanish, Russian, and Mandarin Chinese had followed in his doctorate studies due to boredom (and a few exchange students, boys and girls alike, that had hailed from such languages who he'd gotten into his bed enough times to teach him a thing or two about linguistics).

If there was anything House liked to spice up his sex life, it was the insane screaming and dirty talk in different languages. It always got him hot.

Accents got him hot and bothered. Extremely hot and bothered.

He skimmed the first few pages and realized that Urahara had even managed to have the mangaka sign the work with a personal message inside written in neat kanji: "To Grimmjow House. You're an inspiration!"

Urahara was such a kiss ass.

"Must be nervous," House chuckled, setting the explicit foreign material down on the glass desk before limping through another glass door into the adjoining room, the differential room. It was convenient having it connected to his office with a glass wall, which meant the people sitting in it had been watching him wander about his new office like an exotic animal in a zoo cage.

House perused them, noting how attractive all of the men were. At least Urahara and Yoruichi had gotten something right.

His eyes settled on a head of incredible orange hair. Jesus, was that real or a dye job? Not like House was one to talk with his own natural crazy blue hair (a patient had commented on it once and, to prove it natural, he'd offered to pull down his pants, but the girl had just started choking on her spit or something and rushed out of the room. Pity. She'd been cute, too).

But that orange hair. Huh. Now that House thought about it, he'd never fucked a redhead.

And technically, this attractive young man's hair was not red. It was definitely orange.

Nobody said anything as House popped the cap off of his handy-dandy bottle of Vicodin and swallowed two dry before addressing the room.

"Hey, I'm Grimmjow House. I'm your new boss and I won't be surprised if I sleep with at least one of you by the end of the week," House said, stepping confidently up to the desk and picking up a case file and opening it, ignoring the incredulous looks from his new team members sitting at the glass differential desk, "Now, who's dying?"

**~snort~ No pressure, huh, Kill? Jeez...**

XOXOXO

Ichigo stared at the blue-haired team leader and gaped. Literally. His mouth was open and everything. Had the man just said...? Ichigo glanced around the room to see what the other team members thought of their shameless leader and wasn't really surprised to see his expression mirrored on a few of their faces.

When he'd first arrived in the lobby of Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, he'd been eager to get started. It'd been incredibly unbelievable to be picked out of hundreds of other diagnostic hopefuls. Of course, the interview had been thorough and intense, the violet-haired, cat-eyed Dean of Medicine asking him everything but his shoe size. The other interviewer, Urahara, had been much more amiable, which had relaxed Ichigo into being himself.

Although the hospital was relatively small, he'd heard it was one of the best, which was exactly what he'd been looking for while still in Australia. His crazy old man had insisted on accompanying him, along with his twin sisters, but he'd refused. There was no way in hell he was bringing Isshin Kurosaki to America, just so the man could terrorize whatever neighbors they happened to have. No way. His sisters weren't so bad – although Yuzu had been displaying alarming tendencies of the old man's – but still, he was sure he wouldn't have the time to look after them properly once he found a job.

Med school had been a breeze for him. He loved the field – particularly diagnostics – and it was made even easier since it ran in his family. His father owned a small clinic in their hometown of Banksia Beach. The town was a cozy suburb where retirees came to settle, so the location had been peaceful and ideal. He was born in Japan, but his father had become restless after the death of Ichigo's mother, making the completely random decision to move to Australia. It had been tough to get used to, but once they'd settled down and his father had transformed part of their home into his workspace, things had become comfortably routine. Ichigo had made a lot of friends and had even had a few boyfriends, which he'd had to be a bit more discreet about. The concept of homosexuality in a small town like Banksia Beach had still been considered as taboo, but he'd managed to have good time anyway. There was always a way around things like that.

He'd worked in his father's clinic for a while, along with holding an internship at the local hospital. It had been a lot of pressure, but he'd always enjoyed a good challenge and fell right into place. Then, he'd been struck with the same restless gene as his old man, deciding a change of scenery would be ideal. With that in mind, he'd saved a bunch of money and researched hospitals in America when he was close to graduating from med school. That's how he'd run across Princeton Plainsboro. Their reputation for and record of success went way above their competitors and seemed like the perfect place to make his home. He'd gone on to email his resume, detailing his experience and the many honors awards he'd received in high school as well as University. After some time had passed, he'd totally forgotten about his application, so busy with the clinic and school, until he received an email asking him to come in for an interview. Overjoyed, he'd ironed out the details with the Dean and informed her of his impending move and graduation. Not even a week later, she had replied with congratulations and her office number, telling him to call her when he touched down.

Isshin had been reluctant to let him go alone, but in the end had supported him one hundred percent, even going as far as adding to his savings and helping him find a decent apartment in the States. Life neatly on track, he'd graduated in the top five percent of his class and headed to America, albeit a little wet behind the ears and unaware of all the American customs. When he'd arrived in the airport there, he'd been completely shocked and enthralled at the sheer differences he'd encountered. Excited, he'd taken a taxi to his new apartment and made sure to call the Dean of Princeton Plainsboro the minute he settled in. The rest was history. He'd gone in for his interview and thanks to the friendly demeanor of the Dean's companion, he'd been confident in himself. A week after the interview, he'd received a letter welcoming him to the diagnostics team and that he should be there in two days' time, dressed professionally and ready to meet his team and its leader.

So, there he was, fresh and eager to get started. Urahara had met him in the lobby and led him to the team's office, where they would wait for the team leader to introduce himself. Now, Ichigo had heard rumors of the infamous Dr. G. House. The man was a medical genius, but had a tendency to ignore the rules. Ichigo was fine with that; he hated a tight-ass with no sense of compassion or humor. He would have been dreadfully disappointed had that been the case.

But this guy...

First, once he'd made it to the office, he'd noticed a group of people seated in the spacious room, reclining in cushioned office chairs surrounding a glass desk. After settling into an empty chair, he let his eyes take in the other occupants of the room. Each and every one of them – himself included – wore dress shirts and slacks, accompanied with starched, white lab coats. The guys were pretty good-looking, if he'd say so himself and the two women there were no slouches. They wore dresses under their lab coats and managed to give off an air of superiority that kind of rankled Ichigo's nerves. He didn't think women were inferior when it came to the medical field, but there was no reason for them to have their noses stuck in the air, either.

Before he could continue assessing the group, the sound of a door opening and closing in the next room caught his attention. He turned in his seat, curious and wondering if they were finally going to meet the famous G. House. After a few seconds, a tall, blue-haired man limped into the room, a sick-looking black and white cane at his side. His face was angular and jaw sharp, Egyptian-blue eyes calculating and holding a distinct mischievous light. He roamed the room before going to the desk and lifting a small note from the screen of the computer monitor perched on it. After letting his eyes take in its message, a tight frown creased his impossibly handsome features as he crumpled the tiny slip of paper and reached for the top drawer of the desk. A book was pulled free and after studying it carefully and flipping through its pages casually, he set it down and gave a sardonic smirk.

The man was freaking gorgeous. His eyes were a frightening shade of sea-blue and it made Ichigo shift uneasily in his seat, already expecting the way they would sear and probably reach right through him.

The man finally deigned to limp his way to the door leading into their meeting room. Ichigo watched with bated breath. Even though the man carried a wicked-looking cane, his entire aura screamed confidence and sex, two things Ichigo was fiercely attracted to. The man entered the room, scanned its occupants, those piercing blue orbs settling on him and burning the skin right from his flesh. The man smirked, reached into his pocket and pulled free a prescription bottle filled with pills. He shook two into his palm and tossed them back...and then he opened his mouth.

Granted his voice was _ridiculously_ hot: deep, gravely and extremely man, but the words that flowed from those enticing-looking lips made Ichigo produce a blank face. What the...fuck? Once the shock wore off, however, he chuckled, capturing the attention of those laser-like eyes again. Embarrassed, he covered the laughter with the back of his hand and averted his gaze, not really looking forward to being in the spotlight just yet, and especially not for laughing. But what did the guy expect? His words had been utterly crude and entertaining to say the least. Well, it apparently seemed like humor wasn't one of the things Dr. House lacked.

_~O GAWD RACEY I CAN'T HELP MYSELF HAHAHA~_

Grimmjow cocked his head at the sound of a smothered chuckle. He locked his blue hawk eyes on the orange head, hoping his face was unreadable.

He wouldn't let it show that he was excited: he was the Alpha wolf of this new diagnostics pack, after all.

But he wasn't going to deny that he liked that the orange head was willing to have a laugh, even if it was his first day. Everybody else in the room had their game faces on, even as the orange head tried to regain a blank face.

"Yo, orange head. Something funny about somebody DYING?" Grimmjow said, unable to help the snap in his voice.

Grimmjow watched the orange head's eyes widen significantly before he lowered the hand from his mouth, his cheeks and ears going pink, making his cinnamon freckles stand out against his tanned skin. FUCKING DELICIOUS.

"N-no, sir, I just-"

Grimmjow refused to take his eyes off of him now, a predatory grin taking over his face as the adorable kid stuttered.

Shit. This kid didn't look old enough to be out of med school but he was already devising how to get the orange head in his supreme king size bed.

"What's 'yer name?" Grimmjow asked.

The kid recovered quickly, that was for damn sure. Good to know. The kid's eyes looked rebellious, as if he was trying to recover for his earlier stumble, "Ichigo Kurosaki."

Grimmjow raised a brow, thoroughly intrigued, "Japanese, huh. And from the accent, I'm thinking yer mom screwed Crocodile Dundee."

Instead of infuriating the kid, like he had hoped, Grimmjow was surprised when Kurosaki looked calm, one of his hands playing with a pen as he sighed, "Sorry, sir, but I was under the impression I was hired to help people, not indulge your tendency to pry into innocent employee's private lives."

The room was silent as Grimmjow grinned, tapping his cane repeatedly against the ground before setting his chin on the end of it, "How old are you? You even been potty trained yet?"

Grimmjow couldn't help but provoke the fire in the orange head's eyes. It was breathtaking to watch, "I'm 26, 24 years of peeing practice under my belt. How old are you?"

"Old enough to turn you over my knee and spank you, cutie."

Grimmjow was delighted when the kid almost choked on his coffee and a few of the other team members finally cracked smiles or horrified looks. Entertaining, indeed.

The kid recovered, looking pretty furious by this point, and then he spit out, "Better be on the good knee, boss. I don't think the other one could handle me."

The room was so silent Grimmjow heard the air conditioner unit kick on.

Yeah, the kid had definitely been marked for death.

Grimmjow made his face blank, hoping everyone in the room was sweating bullets, "You're fired."

Now the game would get interesting.

Grimmjow managed to break eye contact with the orange head and look down at the file, skimming through the boring symptoms.

"Forty year old female with dry coughing, trouble breathing, pain in the-"

"What?"

Grimmjow looked up at the confused Kurosaki, "You're fired, strawberry. Thanks for playing."

"Why?"

"Why not? Last time I checked, I was your boss. I can do whatever the hell I want. So get out. Scurry back to the Land Down Under, kid."

"I didn't work my ass off and fly 9,900 miles for a pretentious jack ass to fire me on my first day!"

Again, sweet silence. The kid was standing up now, totally furious. It was amazing.

"Maybe you're still delusional about how the real world works. When I say you're fired, that doesn't mean you pitch a fit like a five year old until I give it back to you. Besides, I can barely understand anything you're saying. That accent isn't doing you any favors in the sweet U-S of A."

"I'm not leaving," he said heatedly, crossing his arms over his chest, "You have no right-"

"What part of YOU'RE FIRED don't you understand, kid?"

"Sarcoidosis."

Grimmjow perked an eyebrow, "I'm assuming that's not your stripper name."

"Sarcoidosis. It explains everything. Shortness of breath, dry cough, swollen lymph nodes, pain in the liver. If I'm wrong, then fire me."

"But why would I fire you TWICE? That'd just be redundant," Grimmjow said, scanning the rest of the contents of the file.

He already knew the kid was right. It was so obvious there might as well have been a glaring neon sign.

Grimmjow smirked. The kid was good. Maybe too good.

He looked up and stared at the two broads sitting to his left. They were attractive in their own ways.

He pointed a finger at one of them, and begun, "Eeny meany miney mo, catch a tiger by the toe, if he hollers let 'im go, eenie meanie miney mo."

His finger was pointing directly at the red head with the big tits as he said, "What's 'yer name, E-Cup?"

"I-it's I-Inoue, sir, um-"

"You're fired."

Her eyes glassed over almost immediately, "But s-sir, I -"

"If 'ya need a reason, I don't need another lawsuit. Seriously woman, I could go hiking in your cleavage. Also, there's only room for one soulless ginger on my team," he said, nodding his head in the direction of Kurosaki.

"B-but sir, I've been wait-listed for three years for th-this hospital..."

"Look, Super Tits, I'm not running a day care. At least this ginger over here is fighting for his spot by giving me a diagnosis. You have anything to put on the table?"

"S-s-sarcoidosis?"

"Yeah, it's settled. You were supposed to be my ankle bracelet."

"Ankle bracelet?" she parroted.

"You know, my house arrest present. Something to fuck to keep me occupied and out of trouble, but sorry, sweet cheeks, I don't bang bitches that don't know their ABC's of diagnostics. The point of a team is to brainstorm, gimme multiple options, and to do that, you have to have an actual BRAIN. So, if you're smart enough to push the door instead of pull, you're welcome to leave."

The useless, busty girl burst into tears and practically ran from the room. The silence was palpable once again.

Grimmjow looked at Kurosaki and tossed the medical file into his hands, "This is MY world, Wombat, and we play by my rules. Don't fuck with me unless you don't want to walk for a week."

Kurosaki was staring at him like he was Jesus. It was kind of nice for a second until he scowled, which made the kid even MORE fuckable in Grimmjow's eyes.

"So you're not firing me?"

Grimmjow ran his eyes over him teasingly, knowing he was making the kid uncomfortable, his voice deep as he forgot about the audience in the room, "Never fucked an Aussie before. I think I'll keep 'ya around, Wombat."

_~HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! DO YOU LIKE? xD THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE!~~~_

**:'D This guy...there's so much to like about him. All you can do is laugh, shake your head and marvel at his superb knack for being an asshole. I cracked up at the knee thing. Holy shit, Ichigo's comeback made me go "OOOOO!" Not to mention the hiking in cleavage line. Oh and House calling Ichigo a wombat? Excellent, excellent, excellent! I LOVED it! Now what?**

XOXOXO

The patient had indeed been suffering from Sarcoidosis, and had been aptly treated. Ichigo was once again in the team meeting room, grabbing another cup of coffee and mentally patting himself on the back. Yes, he would admit that when Dr. House had fired him, he'd been dangerously close to pissing himself in fear. The man's reputation hadn't implied anything of that drastic nature. He took a sip of the hot liquid and rubbed the tension from the back of his neck. However scared he'd been, it hadn't kept his temper from rising at the arrogant asshole's audacity. Like he'd told him, he hadn't flown almost ten thousand miles just to be fired on his first day, all because Dr. House had difficulty receiving the shit he dished out. Unfortunately, Ichigo had a snarky attitude as well, so his response to his new boss's remark about turning him over his knee had been more of a knee-jerk reaction. He'd thoroughly enjoyed the way House's blue eyes widened for the briefest of seconds, clearly shocked. Then, the bastard had gone and fired him.

Ichigo shook his head and took another sip from his coffee. He really didn't mind working with the guy, it was just the man's mouth and impulsive tendencies that knew no boundaries that worried him. When the blue-haired genius had fired that huge-breasted chick by the childish method of "eeny meany miney mo", Ichigo had been stunned. Entertained, for sure, but no less stunned. For a short space of time, he'd actually felt bad for the girl. Then she went and opened her mouth and ruined any chance of sympathy from him. His work-out sneakers had more sense than she did and it was a wonder how she'd even gotten past the interview stage.

But...House was a riot. There was no denying it. Through the majority of his "conversation" with the man - if one could even call it that - and the quick stunt with the booby broad, he'd been holding back uproarious laughter. He hadn't had that much fun proving himself and working out his adrenaline in a long time. Since med school actually, when one of his professors had insisted that if he couldn't stay quiet during his lectures, then there was no way he would pass because "Mr. Kurosaki" couldn't lead a lecture on medicine so early in his career. Ichigo had scoffed and boldly accepted the challenge, and in the process made the professor look like a fool when he had the students more engaged in his impromptu lesson than the professor had with all of his lessons and lectures combined.

Good times.

Dr. House was proving to be a great source of entertainment as well as a beast source to learn from. Ichigo was excited, even though there was an underlying hint of trepidation at the way the blue-haired team leader managed to get under his skin. He hadn't been _angry_ at the knee statement. Actually, the reason he'd even reacted in such a manner was because just imagining such a scenario had sent his mind spinning into dirty territory. Was it terrible that he could picture himself bent over said man's knee (the good one, of course; he'd meant what he said about the bad one not being able to handle him)? He sighed and sipped his coffee again. House was entirely unpredictable, but it was good thing because so was Ichigo.

However...he wasn't about to tolerate that wombat shit. And there was absolutely _nothing wrong_ with his fucking accent. No one else had complained about not being able to understand him, so he got that it was just House being antagonistic. He _got_ that.

"Asshole," he grumbled quietly.

"Yours, I hope?" that now familiar deep voice asked cheerfully from behind.

Ichigo jumped so hard, he almost dropped his coffee. As it was, he spilled it all over his white lab coat. Balling up his lips, he stared down at the stain, refusing to make eye contact with the blue-haired doctor.

"Uh-oh," House continued. "You might be potty trained, but you're lacking table etiquette."

"Noo, I wasn't expecting to be crept up on. Common mistake when someone's caught off guard," he griped in return as he snatched a few tissues from the middle of the differential table.

He couldn't believe he'd allowed House to sneak up on him, and worse, make him look like a clumsy tool. He gritted his teeth as he dabbed angrily at his lab coat, senses every bit aware of the tall man standing behind him. What the hell did the man want _now_?

"So, here's the thing, Wombat-"

"Ichigo, actually," he interrupted, nerves taut and brow creased.

House cocked his head to the side and gave him a curious and amused stare. His lips tilted into a crooked smile before he leaned on his cane and held his other hand to his chest. "_My_ world, remember?"

_Suck it up, Ichigo. He's just trying to get a rise out of you._

It was working.

"You know how offensive that is, which is why you're doing it. Maybe I should moan when you say it from now on. Might make you change your mind about using it so often," he growled.

House blinked. Then he grinned. Hugely. It was so big, it showed all of his teeth and if Ichigo didn't know any better, he would have thought the man was part animal or vampire. The grin gave him goosebumps and made the hair all over his body rise in ominous anticipation. What would he do if his statement backfired?

The man edged closer, cane thumping against the floor as he stood over Ichigo. The grin sharpened and turned feral as he put his face two inches away from Ichigo's nose.

"I really hope that's not your way of discouraging me, Aussie. In fact, with that voice of yours, that plan positively _delights_ me. So, now what? Will you moan for me, _Wombat_?" he rumbled, voice going low and throaty.

Ichigo narrowed his eyes and stared the devil down, heart trying to punch through his ribs like a staple gun. He tried to keep a blank face so House wouldn't know just how turned on he was. God, he hoped it was working.

"House," a stern female voice called from the doorway.

Neither man hurried to be the first to break eye contact, but when the voice called the blue-haired doctor's name again, the man finally turned with a supreme roll of his annoyed blue eyes. Ichigo slowly let out a breath and followed the man's line of vision. The Dean of Medicine stood in the doorway, hands on her hips and exasperated scowl on her face.

"Yes, _mother_?" House snapped, slowly taking a step away and leaning on his cane.

Ichigo fought the urge to put a hand over his pounding heart, as well as stifled the excited smile trying to transform his impassive features. He was _really_ looking forward to working with Dr. G. House.

**Soo, what'd ya think, beesh?**

_Oh shit! you had me squealing the whole time! How the fuck do you do that? That was so naughty and they haven't even touched each other yet! "MY world, remember?" and the ass hole line! Fucking classic House! I died laughing. Simply fucking died. "Yours, I hope?" HAHAHAHA you sick woman! xD_

_Um, so...this is a good place to end, yeah? I think if I add something now this dangerous dance will never end! And we can brainstorm for the next chapter. Hopefully we can introduce some of the other characters and get the ball rolling with this heavy sexual tension. ;-P_

**Heh! Agreed! **

**So, what'd YOU guys think, eh?  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **We do not own Bleach...

**Chapter 2.**

Onwards...

XOXOXO

"How else do you explain the fatigue and muscle aches?"

Ichigo watched his teammate – a tall, pink-haired fellow with mustard-hued eyes – snap at another of their teammates, this one also tall with strange, golden eyes, but sporting a head full of dark-blue hair. They glared at each other a bit before the midnight-haired man twisted his lips into a sarcastic sneer.

"You _do_ realize those are symptoms for countless diseases and afflictions, yes?"

"And I suppose that includes confusion and depression?"

"Those symptoms aren't exclusive to just one disease!"

"As if I don't know that! Don't patronize me!"

"Then make sense with your suggestions!"

Ichigo felt like he was witnessing an extreme tennis match. The two doctors argued heatedly back and forth, faces contorted with fury, while the ring leader held court at the head of the differential table, blue eyes aglow with amusement and mischief. House's lips were quirked to the side, as was his head as he watched the doctors go at it. His fingers drummed over the handle of his cane each time there was a lull in the debate, like he was impatient for the action to resume. Which Ichigo had a feeling was precisely the case.

"It could be lupus..." the lone female on the team offered, gemstone-green eyes arresting and sure.

House made an exaggerated face. "It's _not lupus_," he drawled, rolling his eyes. Ichigo smuggled a grin, covering it with a cup of coffee as he watched the blue-haired doctor rise to his feet and snatch up a black marker for the dry-erase board. "It's almost _never_ lupus. Let's not fall into the abyss where lupus is the answer to everything. I'll boot you off the team faster than you can say 'shit' if you do."

House uncapped the marker with his sharp-looking teeth, spit the top in a random direction, then scribbled down the symptoms written in their latest patient's file. Ichigo set down his coffee and studied the carefree handwriting, head listing to the side. The pink-haired doctor's suggestion of hypothyroidism didn't seem too far off, but one could never be sure, as the disease was one of the few that were extremely difficult to diagnose. The symptoms _were_ rather outstanding, however.

"Hey, _Wombat_," House clipped, turning in Ichigo's direction with belligerent blue eyes. "You've been _awfully_ quiet during this lovely little waltz. Anything _useful_ pinging through that _alarmingly_ _orange_ cranium of yours?"

Ichigo gritted his teeth, fighting the urge to bare them at the annoying older man. Instead of telling House to fuck off like he started to, he cleared his throat and gave the doctor a wide, charming grin.

"I think Dr. Grantz is right. The symptoms lean heavily towards hypothyroidism."

The pink-haired Dr. Grantz smiled smugly as he pushed his silver, wire-framed glasses back up his nose, golden eyes twinkling with arrogance. The blue-haired Dr. Kurotsuchi frowned and folded his arms over his chest, clearly disgusted with the whole situation. House, on the other hand, sighed dramatically.

"And here I thought you _wouldn't_ disappoint me," he grumbled before turning back to the board. There was a peaceful moment of silence until House wrote down "hypothyroidism" and circled it. He faced the wary team with a wicked grin. "First one to bring me back a positive test gets a _prize_."

More silence prevailed...for about ten seconds.

Ichigo rolled his eyes as Dr. Grantz and Dr. Kurotsuchi almost fell over one another trying to get out of the room. They were idiots for taking House seriously. If they didn't know by now that the man thrived on other people's misery, then they'd fall victim to his tricks at every turn. Ichigo took his time getting to his feet and swallowing down the last bit of coffee in his cup, carefully avoiding the blue eyes crawling all over him. He was on his way out of the room when the genius diagnostician cleared his throat loudly.

"Some might call that _running_, _Wombat_."

Ever since their disagreement the other day, House had resorted to gleefully calling Ichigo that degrading nickname at every opportunity. Probably hoping it would actually get him to moan. It was entirely too frustrating, but Ichigo wouldn't be able to call himself a real doctor if he didn't possess patience. He sighed inaudibly – he would never give House the pleasure of knowing his actions were getting to him – and slowly turned to face the blue-haired miscreant.

"Sir, I was under the impression that we had a job to do," he said lazily as he slid his hands into the pockets of his lab coat.

"How long did you know it was hypothyroidism?" House continued, completely steamrolling Ichigo's previous statement.

This time the sigh was long and loud. "About fifteen minutes after we interviewed the patient."

"Mmm. I thought so. Your girlishly brown eyes practically screamed 'ah-ha' back there."

"Are we done?" Ichigo snapped, irritation finally leaking through.

_Yes_, he had patience, but House found every way possible to insult him and push his fucking buttons. Sexy motherfucker. House grinned and limped his way into Ichigo's personal space. The man smelled like Jean Paul Gaultier and cigar smoke, and the mixture made Ichigo's stomach hot and gooey with arousal. He tried not to be obvious about the step back he took, but of course House caught it and rubbed it in his face.

"If I didn't know any better, _Aussie_, I'd say you were intimidated by lil ole me. But since I _do _know better, I'll be glad to inform you that we are by no means _done_. _In fact_, we're just getting started, you and me. Now run along and play with your friends 'til Daddy House summons you."

_Don't feed into it. That's what he wants._

Ichigo let out a breath, then chuckled noiselessly, head shaking incredulously. If there was one thing about Dr. Grimmjow House, it was the man's uncanny knack for keeping a person on their toes. That and his grating ability to irk almost anyone he encountered. Ichigo was sure if House met the Pope, he'd make the man curse him out. Swallowing the automatic retort parlaying at the tip of his tongue, Ichigo turned on his heel and swept from the room, afraid to stick around. If he did, he'd be fired for certain this time.

He made it to the elevator without incident and ducked inside when the silver doors slid apart. Once he was settled against the wall, he tuned in to his surroundings, eyebrows raising instantly at the sight of the taller man leaning against the wall across from him. Crimson hair was pulled back and held off a high brow with a thin, black, elastic headband, and russet eyes studied Ichigo over the edge of a sandwich. A surgical mask hung around the guy's neck, and the white lab coat and teal scrubs did absolutely nothing to hide the astonishingly attractive body beneath them. Ichigo brought his eyes back north, shame threatening to color his cheeks when he realized his elevator companion was giving him a lopsided smirk.

"What floor?"

The voice was deeper than space. Holy cow.

"Uh...ten."

_Smooth. Real smooth, Ichigo. _

The man's smirk widened as he nodded and punched a button on the elevator panel. Then he went back to devouring the sandwich in his big hands. Ichigo discreetly shook his head and forced his eyes to focus on the numbers above the metal doors. He was acting like a sailor in a brothel. But... He peered at the taller man from the corner of his eye, this time taking care not to get caught with his hand in the jar. The guy was hot, that was for damned sure. And there was nothing saying Ichigo couldn't look and admire.

The number seven over the doors lit up and the elevator dinged. Shit, was this the eye candy's stop? The doors slid apart and revealed the blond Ichigo had met during his interview. Urahara, wasn't it? Smiling cheerfully, the man stepped inside and glanced back and forth between Ichigo and the mysterious red head.

"Ichigo! How are you enjoying your first week of work?" he finally asked.

Ichigo refused to roll his eyes with thorough exasperation. Instead, he nodded and kept his eyes on the numbers above.

"It's going OK."

"Good, good. Renji, have you met Ichigo yet? He's on the diagnostics team."

Renji's grin evaporated like smoke. "With House?"

"Mmhmm," Urahara hummed, dark eyes innocent.

Ichigo wasn't buying it for a second. Apparently, neither was Renji.

"I can't believe you actually put that guy in charge of a team. The only way that'd work is if House had his own fuckin' planet," he grunted.

Ichigo snickered. Yeah, Renji obviously had experience with Dr. House because that statement was spot on.

"That's not very nice, Renji," Urahara scolded with a smile before giving his attention to Ichigo. "It hasn't been that bad, right?"

OK, he was caught off guard with that question. Therefore, the quick intake of breath he took was purely instinct, and most definitely an accident. However, Renji cackled as the elevator came to a stop on nine.

"And that, Urahara, should tell ya something." As the red head left the elevator, he tossed over his shoulder, "Nice meetin' ya, Ichigo."

The metal doors slid shut, and quiet squeezed the remaining two like underwater pressure. Ichigo fidgeted a little, unsure of whether he was about to be told off by the amiable blond or not. And then Urahara chuckled softly.

"I apologize, Ichigo. House is horrible, I know. But he's also a genius and very misunderstood."

Well, that was cleaning it up quite a bit. But Ichigo wasn't ready to let all of his negative feelings for his new boss hang out, so he nodded, thinking it better to agree and leave it alone. Minus the presence of a blue-haired thorn in his side, he liked his job very much and didn't want to lose it.

The elevator stopped on ten finally and as the doors opened, he cleared his throat and gave the blond a friendly smile.

"Thanks, Urahara," he said before hurrying away.

He didn't want to discuss House with Urahara. Ichigo was positive he would let something slip that he wasn't supposed to, like how aggravating the man was, how insufferable, how completely impossible House's character could be. Or better yet, how hot the older man was and how his snappy attitude could be one hell of a turn-on. Yeah, Ichigo wasn't sure that was dinner table discussion material. Best to avoid it altogether.

He hastily made his way down the hall. He had to catch up with the rest of the team because even though he didn't take House seriously about the prize the man offered in return for a positive test, he knew the blue-haired doctor was liable to have something up his sleeve. Whether it was naughty or nice, Ichigo had yet to determine.

**XXX**

After a series of grueling budget meetings, the last thing Yoruichi wanted to do was address the various complaints from orderlies, nurses, and other doctors that glass-shaking dubstep was being bumped through the third floor office wing of the hospital, particularly centralized in a certain new doctor's corner.

She wasn't even halfway down the hallway yet and she could hear the obnoxiously loud stereo blasting his Song of the Day.

Yoruichi sighed. At least it was just noise.

She was still waiting for hookers to be parading the hallways, or professional stunt artists with motorcycles on fire, or something equally unacceptable.

Passing doctors and orderlies were staring in through the glass doors or rolling their eyes or scoffing as they went about doing _real _work, but nobody thought to poke their head in and demand the crazy blue-haired man turn off the disruptive noise so people could go about in peace.

Yoruichi gathered herself mentally before going inside.

"House..." Yoruichi started, walking through the glass door to see House in his chair at his desk.

He held a finger to his lips, yelling above the music, "SHHHH! GET READY FOR THE DROP!"

Yoruichi rolled her eyes, recognizing Skrillex's "Kyoto" was what was blasting from the new Bose speakers mounted strategically around the room (when the hell had those been brought in?)

House grinned like a maniac when the drop came, throwing his hands up in the air like he was riding a roller coaster, his head bumping side to side as he enjoyed the intense dubstep. He started spinning his chair around and that's when Yoruichi struck by leaning over the desk and hitting the mute button on the Mac.

Grimmjow gave her a look that made her feel like a bullet had just gone through her skull.

"Seriously, House?"

"I just died a little inside," he answered, poking at Yoruichi with his cane, "You're gonna pay for that. You know that, right?"

Yoruichi rolled her eyes, "This is a hospital, House. Not a warehouse for a rave."

"It could be: we have enough sluts and dope in this place. Let's make it happen!" he said gleefully.

The man was truly a maniac.

"Don't make me take away all this pretty new equipment. Abuse my employee's eardrums again and you'll end up doing differentials in a janitorial closet."

Grimmjow smirked, "Nope. Janitor closet's reserved for poker nights."

"The morgue, then."

Grimmjow shrugged, "Dead people don't bother me. Hell, if my team doesn't stop fighting like three year olds, that's where all our patients are going to end up anyway."

Yoruichi crossed her arms over her chest, "So why don't you do your job and lead them? Skrillex can wait."

"Skrillex waits for no one," Grimmjow said dubiously, checking his phone and texting something, "and the kids are doing just dandy on their own. The more mistakes they make, the quicker I work my magic; at least, I_ think_ that's how the legend goes."

"You're an ass."

Grimmjow looked at his phone again, grinning at a text.

Yoruichi didn't like that look. Bad things were brewing in that blue brain.

House put his phone in his pocket and stood up, slinking to the door with his cane, "You know, if I wanted a nagging wife, I'd just marry your obnoxious sister."

"I don't have a sister."

Grimmjow looked at her, his brows drawn together, "Then who the hell did I fuck at your birthday party?"

"My cousin Keigo."

"Oh. Well in my defense, he screamed like a girl."

Content with the beyond annoyed expression on his boss's face, House whistled as he limped down the hallway and into the elevator, smacking the button for the main floor. The journey continued to the cafeteria where he slid in line and grabbed himself a disgusting looking burrito and a bag of potato chips.

He usually bummed off of Urahara, but he liked messing with the check out girl, a busty babe that hated him with a hate that was beyond hate.

One might call it love, eventually.

"Hey there, Boob-aroo," Grimmjow said, sliding his tray to the end and holding out a thousand yen bill, "One still bigger than the other, I see."

Matsumoto glared at him, snapping the bill out of his hand, "I'd say the same thing about your balls, but weren't they hiding behind your microscopic dick?"

Grimmjow smirked, "Baby, you know first hand there isn't anything on this body that's microscopic."

"Except your brain."

Grimmjow pointed at himself, "Genius, remember? And would you remind me who works in a hospital cafeteria again 'cuz she dropped out of college and didn't want to go back to the trailer park?"

"Fuck you, House."

"Do I have to take you out to dinner this time or are you cool with doing it in the backseat of your boyfriend's car again?"

She was so red and angry Grimmjow was wondering if he should worry about what was left of the neurons in her brain. The vein in her forehead couldn't be a good sign.

Oh well. If she fainted, her tits would save her for sure.

He saluted her with two fingers before scampering off to a corner table, making the intern that had been there move.

He was about halfway done with his food when he was joined by a pale man with silver hair, his maroon-colored scrubs hurting House's eyes.

"Those are nurse's scrubs, you idiot."

"I know," Ichimaru said, taking the seat across from House, a smirk on his face, "Keeps the surgical interns from asking me stupid questions when they see me in the hall. Those scalpel monkeys treat nurses like garbage. It's like being invisible."

House smirked at this bit of information. He hadn't known the slit-eyed mortician for long, but he was definitely wily enough for House's tastes. So far, the man proved to be not only intelligent, but a possible ally for some of the greatest pranks ever.

"So, can we execute Operation Stiffie tomorrow or not?" House asked, knowing full well the sexual innuendo.

Gin smirked back, "Jus' got a nice one in yesterday. Male, late forties, skinny as hell. Perfect zombie material once I shave 'im down. Where we puttin' 'im?"

"Urahara's office," Grimmjow replied, abandoning his soggy burrito for his potato chips, "But you need to pose him now before you can't bend him right."

"Already tagged and bagged," Gin said, stabbing at a tomato in his salad, "Family wants him cremated anyway."

Grimmjow laughed. It was his night to pick a movie, and he'd gone out and found the most horrifying zombie movie on the market. They'd watch it tonight, and Urahara's little zombie surprise would be waiting for him when he came to his office the next day.

_Speaking of pranks..._

"Text me later. Operation Stiffie to commence tomorrow at O eight hundred hours," Grimmjow said, dropping his bag of potato chips and grabbing his cane, "Right now, it's time for the afternoon announcements."

"They're letting _you_ near the PA system? I thought only the head nurses-"

"I paid off Fugly Nurse with a rubber band ball and two Snickers bars."

**_...Yeah, totally retarded, but I can't write Ichigo! I just can't! I really like how you're using him and I'm afraid to touch him! _**

**Chicken...  
**

XOXOXO

Ichigo wriggled comfortably into the couch he'd just purchased. It was big, soft and navy-blue: perfect for vegging out in front of the huge, flat-screen TV in the living room. _Snatch_ was on – one of his favorite movies. He had a cold beer in one hand and a plate of nachos in the other. No one could tell him this wasn't what the "good life" was made of. He sighed, completely satisfied as he hit play on the remote and settled in for the evening.

And then his cell phone blared to life, Guns N Roses singing "Sweet Child O' Mine" through the mini speaker. Ichigo rolled his eyes and leaned towards the low coffee table, glaring at the readout on his phone. Not that he didn't already know who was calling him. That ringtone was assigned to one person alone. He lifted the black device and tapped the screen, studiously trying _not_ to sound as annoyed as he felt.

"You're not going to call me _everyday_ are you?" he asked.

A beat passed before, "ICHIGOOO, MY SON!" was screamed over the line.

Jesus Christ.

"Stop _yelling_! What the hell do you want?"

Isshin Kurosaki lowered his voice a smidgen as he continued. "Papa was just checking on his one and only beloved son-"

He loved his old man, he really did, but times like these made Ichigo want to murder him. "You've checked on me the last few days. Nothing's changed in twenty-four hours, Dad."

"One never knows! And it's always better to be safe than sorry. Also, Karin wants to speak to you."

Now _that_ was news. Karin wasn't the most sociable of the Kurosaki family, that was for sure, so her wanting to speak to him on the phone was pretty big.

"No one's dying or anything, right?" he asked, cautious.

"Don't be absurd! She just wants to spread sibling cheer over the – GWAHHH!"

There was a bunch of noise that sounded like scuffling and arguing before Ichigo's younger sister's voice came over the line.

"Hey, Ichi-bro. Jus' wanted ta let you know, some guy named Keigo left a note here for you. Want me ta send it to you?" she asked.

Ichigo had a feeling Karin's voice would never change. It was always going to be rough-edged and low for a female.

"Keigo, huh?" Ichigo rubbed the tip of his nose, wondering just what his old friend had to tell him in a letter that couldn't be said on the phone. Curiosity would kill him until he found out. He started to tell Karin to just open it and read it to him, but thought about it. What if it was something personal? Nah, better have her send it. "Yeah, you can do that. The goat has my address. How you and Yuzu been?"

"We're fine. Yuz has a boyfriend."

Ichigo could hear the smugness in Karin's voice and practically taste the smarmy grin she had to be wearing. It was widely known in their little hometown how overprotective he was of his little sisters, which had resulted in no boys being brave enough to do more than give the girls a friendly wave. Now that he was gone, all bets were off, apparently.

"Is that so? Well, you tell Yuzu and whoever this guy is that I'm just a plane ride away. As a matter of fact, I'll gladly send a beating in the mail."

Karin scoffed, then chuckled. "Give it up, Ichi-bro. We're getting older, and there's nothing you can do about it."

"I beg to differ – wait. _You_ don't have a boyfriend, do you?" Ichigo asked, chills suddenly climbing all over his skin.

"No," was his sister's quick response. He started to relax, when she drawled, "Not yet, anyway."

"Hey!"

"Talk ta ya later, Ichi-bro. And don't kill anyone, 'kay? Love you."

The phone went dead in his hand as he stared at the TV. Even though he wanted to hog-tie anyone that dared date his sisters, he also knew Karin was right. The girls were growing up fast, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Especially not from ten thousand miles away.

His beer was gone and nachos half-digested by the next time his phone went off. Ichigo sighed, staring up at the ceiling of his new space, wondering why it seemed impossible to get any decent amount of time to himself.

Besides, the ringtone was omen enough. He sighed again, wondering when exactly his new blue-haired boss had swiped his phone and assigned such a thing to his personal contact number:

_'BIIIATCH!_

_B-bitch I'm da bomb_

_B-bitch I'm da bomb_

_B-bitch I'm da bomb like tick (like) tick...'_

Ichigo answered, reminding himself to assign something more evil to the man later, "And why exactly couldn't you page me?"

"Well, good evening to you too, princess. Am I interrupting your period?"

Ichigo shuddered at the deep timbre of his boss's voice, "What do you want?"

"You got a pen and paper? This'll take a while," House quipped, his voice oozing dramatic sarcasm, "First and foremost, I just want my daddy to accept me for who I am-"

"Seriously, House, what do you want? It's late and I'm tired," Ichigo said, running a hand over the back of his neck, glancing at his watch. Half past eleven.

"So, Wombats are potty-trained, but they still have a curfew and a bedtime?"

"If you're just calling to torture me, I better get paid for it. Torture's part of company time, you know, in the actual hospital where we work saving lives."

"You're really on your period, aren't you? Did you run out of tampons, or did your pink-haired colleague save the day and lend you hers?"

Ichigo huffed, knowing the blue-haired bastard was probably getting off on how frustrated he was becoming. He couldn't fall into another pitiful game, "Szayel didn't have any, so I just took some from your desk drawer."

House laughed, "Trust me, Wombat, if you don't want to be scarred for life, you'd better stay away from my desk."

"Why? I'm sure it's all abandoned paperwork and porn."

Maybe it was bold to be speaking so harshly to his brand-new boss that had already fired him once, but the man just got under his nerves in a way that made it impossible for Ichigo not to fight back in some way.

His stomach rolled and pitched, and a little voice inside his head told him that he actually liked the banter. Ugh.

"Among other things," House said vaguely, trying not to think about the various sex toys he had locked up in one of the bottom drawers, "nothing a prude like you would be interested in, I'm afraid."

"I'm not a prude," Ichigo defended, feeling his blood beginning to heat, "I'm just not a sexually depraved sadist."

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me," Grimmjow sing-songed, making Ichigo grin.

_Dammit, none of that now, Ichigo. Remember, this jackass is your boss and a complete jerk._

"As lovely as this is, would you please tell me why the hell you're calling me so late? I have to be up in less than six hours."

"Am I supposed to feel bad that you're a workaholic?"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh come on, Wombat. You're fresh meat, just shipped in from Australia: you're young, green-horned, need to be broken in. You have to prove you have a place on the team and work harder than the others because you're the most inexperienced out of all of them. Urahara told me you've been working extra hours in the emergency room when I'm not looking and doing log hours in the clinic: that has '_over achiever with an agenda'_ written all over it."

"What do you care? For somebody that fired me a while back, I'd think you'd be happy with my initiative."

"I don't care what you do in your spare time, but the second you're too exhausted to use that brilliant brain to help me diagnose, your ass is back out of the country and back to the land where the kangaroos roam. You get me?"

Ichigo could feel how tense his jaw had become, but when he broke down the words, he realized what Grimmjow was saying. He needed to be one hundred percent dedicated to the team, or he would fall prey to the exhaustion not only from dividing his time between dozens of patients instead of a single patient, but from the extra paperwork and everything else that entailed.

In a sense, he'd slowly become a dull blade no longer needed by the ultimate surgeon.

_Brilliant brain...he thinks I'm brilliant?_ Ichigo doubted the man even realized what he'd let slip.

"If you wanna stay on my team and give your career a chance in hell of ever going somewhere in the New World, you better drop the bullshit Yoruichi's been sliding you and get your head on straight."

"I understand."

"Good Wombat. See you tomorrow. Don't be late."

"You don't ever come in on time. How would you even know?"

"You think you're the only person on the team scared shitless of being kicked off the island? Ears and eyes everywhere, Wombat: I am all-knowing and all-seeing."

"You should probably see a shrink about the god complex thing."

"I did. He worshiped me too. On his hands and knees. Then he asked me to smite him, so I did. Several times."

Ichigo refused to admit that blood was pooling straight to his groin at the man's husky voice. There was no way he was being serious, was there?

"He kept saying 'oh god, oh god'. There was nobody else in the room, so I'm assuming he was talking to me."

"Goodnight, House."

"Yoruichi will be punished for her meddling, and you will too."

"What?"

"You should know better than to go behind my back. She's Satan in stilettos. _You_ _will be punished."_

Ichigo's breath hitched, but Grimmjow had already hung up.

_Fuck. _

Ichigo hung up and flung himself back on his couch, suddenly too tired to make the trek to his bed, ignoring his throbbing erection until he slipped into sleep.

_**Um...Yeah...LOL**_

**LoL, awesome...****  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Been a while, apologies. Life's getting in the way on both writer's sides, so sit tight.**

**Also, there seems to be some confusion/complaining about how we are tackling this story: it is Bleach characters set in the House, M.D. universe (our models of course reflect House and Chase for the GrimmIchi dynamic.)**

**Finally, I did use dialogue I think in three places in the first/second chapters that is taken directly from the show because I found them to be so hilarious. If you don't like that, don't read it: fanfiction isn't one hundred percent original in the first place (le gasp! No time for a spoil alert.) You don't have to like how we structure the fic: we 'block' it, like a tennis match = one of us starts it, then the other takes over and sends it right back. It's a GAME for us, something to amuse us because we like to write, so if you're going to be one of those idiots that complains about EVERY FUCKING CHOICE WE MAKE, just do everybody a favor and find another fic that you do like. Good luck finding an author that caters to your every whim! ;)**

**ANYWAYS, as Racey likes to say, ONWARDS…**

* * *

**Doctor Dick**

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Grimmjow whistled as he made his way to the nurse's head station in the clinic he barely ever stepped foot into, even though Yoruichi badgered him constantly about his 'required' clinic hours.

Pigs would rip their wings off before he ever completed his 'required' clinic hours. He chuckled to himself: maybe he'd make Wombat do his clinic hours next week as part of his penance for moonlighting the emergency room behind his back.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes: his little slaves were so silly sometimes. He was a genius: of course he understood human behavior no matter how much of a jackass he seemed. He could read people almost better than the differentials he sifted through on a daily basis looking for a new, interesting case.

People were predictable. People were safe. BORING, probably why most people hated him.

What Grimmjow called fun others called sadistic. What Grimmjow found fascinating others found either insane or impractical.

Who cared about practicality in this day and age? There were more diseases then ever before, flesh eating bacteria, all kinds of nasties that were more dangerous than Jason, Freddy, and the Boogeyman combined, yet people just shook their heads and labeled him an eccentric ass hole because he spoke his mind and hired hookers to drive monster trucks with him.

The jack ass-edry usually lulled people into thinking he was normal-ish; at least normal-ish with an ego the size of a third world country. The 'genius' part was almost always forgotten when he took a joke too far or insulted somebody in some way.

But Grimmjow hadn't been born to make people feel good about themselves: he was going to do what he was going to do when he wanted to do it. If he didn't, his brain would never ever, ever shut up.

People didn't understand how much faster his brain catalogued, calculated: why the fuck else would he be one of the leading (if not THE best) diagnostician in the United States?

He had better access to the analytical part of his brain than others: where others had dial-up, he had DSL. He had a library at his fingertips at nearly any moment, his stream of consciousness his own symphony that most other humans didn't function on.

And it wasn't his fucking fault.

At least he could back up his ego unlike most people.

Grimmjow finally slid into Fugly Nurse's workstation, picking up the phone connected to the PA system they used for announcements.

Fugly Nurse simply grunted as he chewed on a Snickers bar. He was a big dude with a huge chin: how the giant decided he wanted to be a nurse instead of a wrestler was beyond him.

"Can I have another Snickers?" he asked, chocolate stuck to the corner of his mouth.

"I'll buy you the factory if you shut the hell up."

He drew his eyebrows together, like he was deciding whether to be offended or not, "You callin' me fat?"

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, "Yeah, Boulder Chin, that's exactly what I said."

"My name's Yami, ass hole. And I'm part Bulgarian on my mom's side!"

"Nice to meet you. I'm Doctor House from the country of Don't Give a Flying Fuck."

Grimmjow cleared his throat and took out his phone, opening up the music section and scanning through to the selection he wanted and began his announcement:

"Paging Doctor Yoruichi, Doctor Yoruichi. The Hollow Clinic just called the main nurse's station to inform you that your test results came back negative: congratulations, getting The Clap _twice_ would've been embarrassing, huh? Your secret lover of two years is waiting for you here, ecstatic about the results. He asked me if I would be willing to play a little something special for you on the intercom, so everyone, doctors and patients alike, please enjoy this brief, romantic selection. Mozeltov to the beautiful lovebirds."

Grimmjow clicked the song and moved the bar to hover over the beginning of the chorus, his grin eating his face as he unleashed it at full volume:

_**"…AND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII will always LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUU-OOOO-oooo-OOOO-AAAAAAAH**_

_**WILL ALWAYS…LOVE YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU…!"**_

It didn't get much farther then that, considering Yoruichi's office was located less than one hundred feet from the clinic doors.

She stormed in, her face a female god of rage as she smacked the intercom phone out of his hands and hung it up, her cat-like eyes drilling holes through his forehead.

"Are you trying to get me _fired?_" she hissed.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, "The Board of Directors wouldn't dare. You clipped their balls last year when you cut the deal with the new insurance program. Unless you're not carrying their testicles in your pocket anymore…eh, guess it doesn't matter. There's no way they'll give up looking at your fabulous cleavage every morning, noon, and night."

Her eyes just narrowed further, "This isn't a joke, House. This is…I'm beyond offended. I don't even want to look at you right now."

"Well that's the first time I've ever heard that," Grimmjow said, getting to his feet and running a hand through his mop of blue hair, "I've been told I'm rather dashing."

"You're suspended."

"Oh come on," Grimmjow said, rolling his eyes again and tapping his cane on the ground, "Suspending me is just going to draw the game out longer. You know that."

"I don't care," Yoruichi said venomously. Grimmjow had REALLY taken it a little too far, huh? She was tense like a cat that was staring down a dangerous dog, claws out and fangs bared.

"The entire hospital, House. Every employee, every colleague, every _patient_-"

"I dunno. They _say_ coma patients can hear you, but-"

"Shut your mouth and _get out_ of my _hospital_."

Grimmjow sighed, starting to hobble out, Fugly Nurse's eyes about ready to bulge out of his head. He was for sure getting suspended if not fired.

Grimmjow stopped near Yoruichi, not turning his head, "Ya know, if you'd fired me, I'd respect you a little more."

"Get out."

"But you can't, can you? You need your little resident genius to keep the extra hospital funding, huh? Keep the big wigs happy and out of your pants. Shame: if I had to bet on a woman kicking my ass, I would'a put the money on you."

Then he was gone, out of the clinic before Yoruichi could come up with a retort that wasn't a lie.

* * *

Ichigo stared into his half-eaten bowl of Wheaties in the cafeteria, not sure how long he'd been staring at it but knowing he couldn't finish it.

He felt like a zombie. He hadn't slept at all, and now that he was at work, it felt even worse. For some reason House wasn't there, not that he ever showed up on time anyway. Cuddy had simply walked in and said that the team should pick a file and get cracking: she looked as pissed off as a cat that had been stranded in the rain, so Ichigo had kept a wide berth from the PMSing hospital director.

Then, when the team had finally stopped arguing over what test to give their newest patient, all hell had broken loose just down the hallway. Urahara had come running out of his office like his ass was on fire, a hand over his heart as he threw himself against a wall.

Ichigo had gone out to him, asking him what the matter was. Urahara, his breathing erratic.

"Calm, deep breaths," Ichigo instructed. He knew it was probably a pointless thing to say, probably even annoying as he was a doctor telling another doctor how to relax from a panic attack.

"I'm…I'm…going…to…kill…him," Urahara finally wheezed, closing his eyes as he started breathing deep through his nose, "No wonder…he kept…laughing…every time…Jesus, he's…such…a child!"

Ichigo had no idea what the oncologist had been talking about until Urahara waved towards his office door, a hand on his forehead, "He thinks…he's…so funny. I can't…believe…the morgue…my god, just…he's never pushed it…this far. What…an ass."

Ichigo, thoroughly intrigued, decided to open the door to Urahara's office slowly, just like they did in the horror movies.

He jumped slightly, but relaxed once he realized it was a cadaver. It wasn't like he wasn't used to seeing dead bodies, but it was extremely disturbing how they had managed to prop the body so close to the door.

Anybody would've screamed walking in on that.

"Um…I'll contact the morgue?" Ichigo finally said, too tired to even ask.

Of course it had something to do with House.

"He's going to get it," Urahara mumbled to himself, ignoring Ichigo as he headed down the hall like a bat out of hell, "Brilliant, but still…still…I'm going to saw through his cane, and then…"

Needless to say, it had been an eventful morning.

Once the team had been informed on whatever shenanigans House managed to pull while not even being present in the hospital, Ichigo had proceeded to do tests with the rest of the team, agreeing with one treatment and ripping apart another.

It was now almost eight o'clock, the rest of the team tired of going in circles. They left; he stayed.

So here Ichigo sat in front of the whiteboard, ignoring the cereal now as his eyes ran tiredly over the symptoms again and again.

He hadn't been sleeping too good the past few weeks, and now that there was a case they'd taken on that they still hadn't solved, it made him want to prove House wrong.

If House walked in, he had a feeling they would've already solved this case.

So the least he could do was figure it out by morning, before the team came in. Maybe it would look pompous, but he wanted to prove himself.

He couldn't leave a puzzle sitting here.

He didn't know how long he sat like that, but when his phone went off, he almost fell out of his chair he was so startled.

_'Bitch bitch I'm the bomb_

_Bitch bitch I'm the bomb_

_Bitch bitch bitch I'm the bomb like tick tick…'_

"What?" Ichigo answered, remembering that he HAD to change that stupid ringtone after he hung up with his annoying boss.

"Miss me yet, Wombat?" came the sarcastic reply. Ichigo wouldn't admit that he DID miss that deep, smooth voice.

"What do you want, House?"

"You're in a bad mood. Why?"

Ichigo was taken aback: did House actually sound concerned?

Maybe he needed sleep more than he originally thought.

"New case. I've been staring at this board for…" Ichigo glanced down at his watch, "nearly 3 hours."

"And no cigar? Tisk tisk, Wombat."

"Look, are you planning on coming in tomorrow or not? The patient's urine contains blood –"

"Since when?"

"Almost eight hours ago."

"Color?"

"It's blood, House. His kidneys are shutting down from –"

"Red or brown?"

"It's…" Ichigo got up from the table, practically running from the room, the cell phone at his ear as he dashed to the elevators, "Almost brown."

"Almost isn't exactly," House said, chewing on what sounded like popcorn, "It's not liver failure. Patient been out of the country lately?"

"Does Hawaii count?"

"Snorkeling?"

"Diving."

"Any cuts?"

"None."

The doors to the elevator dinged as he rushed down the new patient's wing, ignoring the staring nurses and orderlies.

"Male in his early to middle twenties?"

"How did you know?"

House snorted, "Women will tell you about a hangnail they had in '89. Older men would try to patch the cut somehow. Younger men, however, are still just dumb enough to think a scrape won't give them microscopic bacteria they've never even heard of. Dumbass probably scraped himself against a reef with heavy algae. Check his elbows and between his fingers."

Ichigo ignored the startled patient and pulled up his hands, immediately beginning to check between each finger.

"Holy shit," he breathed into the mouthpiece, finding a yellowing cut between the pointer and middle finger. It looked like an angry paper cut.

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner."

Ichigo hung up on House and began to explain the bacterial infection that had gotten the idiot diver sick. He called in a nurse and had them switch the IV bag, feeling a little depressed once he knew the kid was going to be fine.

He hadn't figured it out for himself. He'd relied on House. Again.

Maybe he wasn't as strong of a doctor as he'd thought.

Grimmjow smirked as he made his way up a flight of stairs, a six-pack in one hand and a extra large cheese pizza balanced precariously in the other. He usually walked everywhere with his cane, but he'd given it up in favor of being hungry. Besides, he'd only had to make it from his car to the elevator of the apartment complex. He slammed his foot against the base of the apartment door repeatedly, his arms getting tired.

An exhausted Ichigo answered the door. Grimmjow lifted an eyebrow at the disgruntled young man, ignoring the fact that he looked damn sexy with what was probably couch head, striped boxer shorts, and a light grey tank top with what looked like a coffee stain.

"You're looking like a panda with those saggy eyes, Wombat," Grimmjow said, shoving past Ichigo into the tiny but cozy-looking apartment. He wrestled his bounty onto the coffee table, throwing himself back on the couch and popping one of the nearly icy beers.

"It's almost two a.m., House," Ichigo grunted, taking a seat on the couch next to the crazy genius, "I'm due back at the hospital in four hours."

"No you're not," Grimmjow said, passing an unopened beer to the tired orange head, "You've got the next two days off."

"No I don't."

"According to that case you just solved by yourself, yes you do," Grimmjow argued, crushing his now-empty beer can as he opened up the big cheesy pizza, "And don't lie to me, Wombat. Your employee number is on 80% of the blood tests ran today, not to mention you were the only one staring at our handy-dandy white board for hours on end. I say you've earned a day or two. 'Sides, don't act like you wouldn't pass out from exhaustion sometime around noon tomorrow. You're dehydrated, too."

"Beer isn't really an effective means of curing hydration," Ichigo said tersely, taking a sip of his own beer anyway and nearly spitting it out, "Ugh, what is this?"

Grimmjow snorted, "Sure as hell isn't that sheep piss you call beer Down Under, kid."

Ichigo took another sip, adjusting better to the strong Millwauke brew, "So…you're rewarding me? You solved the case."

Grimmjow shrugged, "You practically handed it to me in an Easter basket."

"But you're…being…nice…to me?"

Grimmjow smirked through a mouthful of pizza, somehow still managing to look attractive. Ichigo ignored his crotch in favor of listening to the man, "Pride cometh before a fall, Young Skywalker. Besides, I didn't forget that you still need a proper punishment for your whoring expedition with Cuddy's little clinic."

Ichigo's eyes nearly bugged out of his head as Grimmjow leaned towards him, his breath hot on his face. He hated the smell of this American beer.

"And it's gonna be worth the wait, Wombat. I promise."


End file.
